Merry Christmas!

I grew up in the Soviet Union and climbed rocks or anything above the ground since I was a teenager. When the country collapsed and the borders were open, the foreign climbers started to show up in our mountains. The unemployment was raging, and I decided to try to make a living as a mountain guide. My first American client contracted me for the winter ascent to a challenging peak.

The client’s name was James. He was in his late twenties, tall and very slim, though quite strong. He had some good potential, but I was not sure about his stamina.

He came for a week, which seemed long enough for the ascent, but we got stranded in the base camp due to poor weather. James started to lose patience. Then the weather cleared, and we saw blue sky for the first time in almost a week.

“I have only two days left before my flight back home,” James told me. “If we can go up and down in two days, it’ll be fine; I can catch the morning bus to the airport after that.”

James had to get back home to America for Christmas. In Soviet times, we never celebrated Christmas. New Year’s Eve was much more important than a religious holiday. Naturally, I assumed that it was the same in other countries too.

“You see,” James tried to explain to me, “it is not just a religious holiday. It is our long-standing family tradition, to get together for Christmas. We have always managed to keep it, so far.”

“Don’t worry,” I assured him. I really thought we could make it in time. “We can climb right under the summit tomorrow, stay overnight there, then climb the summit and get back to the base camp. We’ll roll down in no time!”

“That would be nice,” James approved.

The next morning, we started as planned. The weather held up. We have reached the spot under the summit and stayed there overnight. We got up when it was dark yet and started moving with a good speed. Then the sun came up. The sky was clear, and we had all the reason to be optimistic.

There was a layer of fresh snow, so we had to find the right path ourselves and take extra caution to keep our bearings. From the above, one does not see the snow cornice, so it is easy to step on one and go all the way down to the bottom of the valley.

To add a measure of safety, we did not go along the same path. But this meant that each of us had to break his own trail through the snow. Such an arrangement, though safer, required extra effort, but we pushed on, step by step, trying to keep a steady rhythm.

I have made an ascent the previous month and was well conditioned, while James did not climb since summer, he told me. All he did was endurance training on the treadmill. I had never stepped on a treadmill myself and could not imagine how running on a stationary contraption could prepare one for an actual mountain experience. So, I kept an eye on James all the time.

By noon, when we were approaching the summit, I noticed that James had slowed down a bit. He was obviously very tired, even though he kept going. We were slightly behind schedule, but not enough for concern yet.

Finally, we made it to the summit. I put my arms around James, and said, “We did it!” His response was not very enthusiastic though. He looked quite worn down. I let him sit and relax a bit, while I took pictures of us on the top for our memory and for the record. Then we started descending.

Descent has a bad reputation because of the statistics. More accidents happen on the descent than on the ascent. But after all, it is easier to go down, so we quickly reached our tent, packed it, and soon were on the wide saddle between our and another peak.

It was now time for the radio checkup with the ranger. We dropped our backpacks and sat on them. I turned on the radio and reported our status to the ranger. He acknowledged our report, then said there was an accident on the neighboring summit. A climber had broken the leg, and his partner now struggled to bring him down. The rescue team was on the way, the ranger said, but they would not be able to reach the guys until the next morning at best.

“I know you have obligations towards your client,” the ranger added, knowing that I was a licensed mountain guide, “so I leave it up to you to decide if you can help them. Call me if anything.”

I looked at James. He looked better than before, but still seemed quite tired.

“What happened?” he asked.

“The guys got into some trouble on this summit,” I pointed to the mountain to the left of us.

“How many?”

“Two of them, just like us. One of them has broken leg.”

Neither of us said anything for a while. We both knew the unwritten law of climbing ethics: if somebody is in trouble, anyone who can help must help. Of course, it all depends on your abilities and other circumstances – not everyone is able to help safely. In my case, if James felt he could not go down the rest of the way without me, I would be forced to follow him. We both understood this.

“We should help the guys,” James said.

He got up and pulled on his backpack.

“What?” I did not expect that from him.

“Where are they exactly?” James looked up the slope, then back at me.

“Hold on, James,” I interrupted. “If you really want to do this, the best thing would be for you to go down alone, while I go up to help the guys.”

“There are two of them,” James said quietly. “They both might need help.” He thought a second, then added, “And the wounded one might need to be carried. Then you alone will not be able to do anything for them.”

That made the most sense, we both knew it. But I also saw how tired James was.

“You are tired,” I said.

“So what?” James looked at me straight. “There are worse things than being tired.” He turned to the mountain again and asked, “Has the ranger told you where they are exactly?”

Still not sure I was doing the right thing, I called the ranger. He relayed us to the guys. They were on the other side of the mountain, and we could not talk to them directly.

“We’ll go around the summit,” I said.

“It is not easy traversing there,” the ranger commented.

“To go over the summit would take a lot of time and effort.”

“Yeah,” the ranger agreed, then asked, “How well are you equipped for the traverse?”

In my mind, I went over the gear we had. Crampons, ice-axes, five ice-screws, carbines… We did not count on such a long traverse and descent with a wounded person. The count of ice-screws was tight.

“It’s going to be tough, but we might be able to make it,” I said, “if we are lucky.”

“How much luck do you need?” the ranger asked.

“Extra luck never hurts,” I responded.

“No kidding,” the ranger agreed. “And what about your client?” He asked. “It’s his call, you know.”

“Yes, it was his idea to help.”

“You have a good partner then. Good luck to you both! Call me any time,” the ranger ended the transmission.

We grabbed our gear and stepped on the slope. The snow was firm and held the crampons well. Since we had to move not up, but around the mountain, we had to step sideways, especially when the slope became steeper. At one point, it turned into an icy wall. I called the ranger and he assured me that it was not a very long section. We inched along.

Then the ice thinned, and I was afraid an ice-axe might not be able to grab enough depth. I told James to stop, hooked him to an ice-screw, then finished crossing the icy section alone, secured myself on an ice–screw and belayed him. Looking back, I realize now, we got very lucky there.

After the ice section, it took us another two hours until we saw the guys sitting on a snow shelf, which they had cut in the slope. All this time I was concentrating on safety and did not watch James’ condition closely. When I finally did take a good look at him, I did not like what I saw. He was hanging on by sheer will. But he moved along without slowing us down.

“Would you like to rest?” I asked him.

James looked at me and I saw hidden pain in his eyes.

“We have to get down to the saddle before dusk, don’t we?” he said slowly and deliberately.

I could not agree more. If we didn’t get down to a flat surface soon, where we could pitch a tent or dig a cave, we had little chance of surviving the night. So, we kept on going without a break.

I was still figuring out the best plan in my mind as we were approaching the guys. When I saw their condition, I forgot about everything else. They were definitely at the end of their strength. Already quite emaciated, with minimal equipment and no backpacks, they were doomed. We had to bring them both all the way down as rapidly as we could. So, we started working.

I escorted the wounded one, while James helped his partner. The first thirty meters down were very slow, but then everybody adjusted to their tasks and we started to descend much faster. I would put a screw in the wall, push the rope through the carbine and lower the guys on it. James would secure both of them down below with another screw. Then I would pull out my screw, climb down, give the James my screw and use his screw to lower the guys again. Then repeat, one rope length after another, each time thirty meters lower. James did not falter. The other guys helped as much as they could, too. I did not think or ask about how each felt, saving every bit of strength for the descent. And everybody did what had to be done, because each of us knew that was the only chance to make it.

It was already starting to get dark when we reached the saddle. By then I realized that the other guys probably were frostbitten. Pitching our tiny tent for two to rest was not an option. The rescue team, the ranger told us, decided to continue through the night, so we pushed down in the hope of meeting them halfway.

It was a grueling ordeal. We walked, and pushed, and pulled, and lifted, and walked, and fell, and slipped, and cut our hands against the rocks and ice, and continued down. The only thought in my head was to keep going down, no matter what! Every meter we descended felt like a small victory.

And then, sometime around midnight, we spotted the headlights of the rescue team. Soon, we were sitting in a warm tent, drinking hot tea, feeling, well, nothing.

In the morning, we continued going down, the wounded guy now on a stretcher. By noon, we got to the ranger station. We were told to stay there a day or two until we strong enough to walk to the base camp a few kilometers down the valley.

“Sorry about your Christmas,” I said to James. It was clear he had no way of getting to the airport in time.

James just wearily waved his hand. He was so exhausted that he hadn’t said a word since the day before. I was also not in a chatty mood.

But the ranger noticed our exchange and asked me what the matter was. I explained.

“No,” said the ranger, “such a man deserved better than this.”

He went to his radio station and called somebody. Half an hour later he woke me up from my slumber with a big grin on his face.

“Tell your partner,” he said, “a helicopter will pick him up in half an hour.”

“Helicopter?” I didn’t understand at first.

“Yes,” the ranger grinned even more, “our friends in uniform respect decent folk. They will drop him off at the base camp to collect his stuff and then bring him straight to the airport.”

I woke James up and told him the news. In his exhaustion, he squeezed out a smile.

“Thank you,” those were his first words in almost twenty-four hours.

“But tell him,” the ranger patted me on the shoulder, “that he should not talk during the trip. It is a military helicopter, you know, and an American does not belong there.”

That would be easy for James, I thought.

When the helicopter arrived, the ranger helped James to get in, and the helicopter took off. We watched it gaining altitude and then disappearing down the valley. According to the old Russian tradition, it was a good omen to follow the departing transport to the last glimpse.

“I’m not sure what Christmas’ significance is,” the ranger said after helicopter disappeared from view, “but a man like him would not care about unimportant stuff.”